I was on night shift starting at twenty-three hundred
And I walked into the station at quarter to without dread
I put on my uniform and talked to my team mates
As we walked to the muster room so we wouldn't be late
The police radio cackled and was busy with something going down
There had been a disturbance involving a firearm with patrols racing around
Then all of a a sudden the operator asked the Inspector to change channels
So we did too but all that we heard was scrambled words to puzzle
The sergeant was late and rumours circulated about what had occurred
When finally he came in and stood at the lectern to give the final word
'I need to give you some bad news. Constable Williams was shot dead.'
We sat there not knowing what to say and waited for more information to be fed
But that was all they were going to say and we got up and left
Picked up our equipment and went to the car feeling bereft
It didn't matter how we felt about losing a fellow officer and mate
You had to get out on the road because being in the police can't wait
Time moves along where days become weeks become months and years
Our lives return for all to see and we wipe away our tears
But once a year a mother returns to the place her son was lost
As she places a bouquet with a tear gently still counting it's cost.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem